No Escape by Michelle Gagnon Read Free Book Online Page B

without a kidney, that sort of thing. She’d never put much stock in it—even if the stories were true, she considered herself too smart and experienced to have to worry about it.
    But she was wrong. Someone had taken her, and she couldn’t even remember how or when. Besides, the cut was on her chest, not her back. It wasn’t like they could have taken her heart, right? What else was in there?
    She might not make it through the next few hours anyway, Noa reminded herself. So worrying about that now was probably a waste of time.
    She’d gotten lucky once, though. Maybe it would happen again. Motivated, she got up and went back into the hallway. Next was another empty room, this one with bunk beds. The final door at the end of the hall opened onto the ship’s bridge. It was stocked with an elaborate array of marine equipment and controls. Unfortunately, no sign of a phone or computer.
    Then her eyes alit on the ship-to-shore radio. Noa turned the dial, and the receiver lit up. A smile slowly spread across her face.
    Peter was choking on a mouthful of carpet. One of the men who’d stormed into his house was driving his knee into Peter’s back while simultaneously pressing his face into the rug. The cloying sweetness of rug shampoo was making him gag, which helped allay some of the shock.
    “What do you want?” he asked, trying not to sound as scared as he felt. “There’s no money here.”
    No one answered. He started to struggle. The guy on top of him increased the pressure until it felt like he was being driven into the floor like a nail, and his head might actually go through the rug and pop out the other side. Peter went limp. He was terrified. He’d heard about home invasions before. His friend’s dad worked at a bank, and when they were younger two guys held the whole family at gunpoint overnight, then forced the dad to help them rob the bank in the morning. Was this something like that? They seemed official, highly trained. Or maybe it was a kidnapping? His parents were rich; he’d heard about stuff like that happening, too.
    The scary thing was that he wasn’t so sure his parents would pay a ransom for him.
    It was hard to see, but Peter was pretty sure there were three guys in the room, all dressed identically in black. When they’d first stormed in they had guns drawn, but from what he could tell they’d tucked them away. At least he hadn’t been shot yet, which was probably a good sign. There were others with them; he could hear them moving from room to room, muttering to one another in low voices. They seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone.
    “Get off me!” he managed, the words muffled by piling.
    A set of loafers entered his line of sight. Black leather buffed to a shine, black suit pants, cuffs broken in a sharp line at the heel: the mark of a pricey tailoring job. Peter followed them up. A tall guy loomed over him, dressed in a full three-piece suit with a red tie. A lawyer, if Peter had to guess; everyone at his mom’s firm looked and dressed like that. That provided a measure of relief. A lawyer wouldn’t let them hurt him. And the guy seemed to be in charge; the mood in the room had shifted when he came in.
    Still, he looked peeved, like Peter was an annoyance he’d prefer not to deal with, a piece of gum he’d just discovered stuck to his heel. He was probably in his thirties, dark hair cropped short, cold gray eyes. “Let him up,” the guy said.
    Peter felt the pressure release. He got to his feet, trying to hide the shakiness. His back ached where the knee had pushed on it. He tried to sound confident when he said, “Get the hell out of my house, or I’ll call the cops.”
    The man in the suit eyed him. After a beat, he said, “You’re the son.”
    His voice creeped Peter out; it was completely flat and toneless. Disinterested.
    “I’m going to say it one more time. Get out.” Peter went to the phone on the desk and picked up the receiver. Held his breath the whole